


Reunion

by Nopholom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Sam never lost Jess that night, and he never went with Dean to find their dad. The brothers went their separate ways - Sam becoming a lawyer and Dean goes hunting on his own. Year later, in a chance encounter, they run into each other on the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Some swears present.
> 
> Slight straying from the prompt, they don't run into each other on the street, but circumstances bring them together.
> 
> Prompt fill for mrsquidgereen (couldn't find an AO3 so putting it here)

"Moore, we've got a case for you," his Boss said as he strode into the room, dropping a manila folder on the desk before him, "FBI want this guy prosecuted ASAP, so who better to put the creep away than our best up and comer?" he asked, tapping the folder with two fingers. Sam Moore _was_ the best, he had been an Assistant District Attorney for a year now and had yet to lose a case, locking up all kinds of criminals, even before he was ADA; it was a rewarding job, one he enjoyed doing and one he could come home to his wife from, not like what his dad would have wanted, not his family's business. He smiled at the DA, welcoming a new case and interested to see why the FBI of all people were tracking down a prosecutor for their suspect so soon.

"I'm game," he said, "I'll look it over in a few, who do I direct questions to?" he asked, looking to the door as a suited man walked in,

"That would be me, Special Agent Victor Henriksen," he said, offering his badge to Sam, who took it with a look of mild curiosity; he knew a fake when he saw one and this wasn't it. Content the man was who he said he was, he handed the ID back and began sorting a few things on his desk, suddenly conscious of his mess,

"So this guy," he began, leaving the sentence open for the FBI agent to finish,

"Crazy son of a bitch, been running around the country killing people, burning remains, desecrating grave sites and religious artefacts, thinks he's some kind of hero," Sam was stunned, he had opened the folder when Henriksen had mentioned burning remains, figuring it was someone who's hunt had gone sour, he knew the face pouting up at him from the mug shot. "The guy managed to kill two people after being welcomed into their homes, don't know how he got them to trust him, but he did, attacked another young woman, a relative of the guy we'd pinned for the other murders," he explained, "then bam, we found the guy dead in her apartment, buried him, but somehow he cropped up again, staged his own death somehow,"

"Does he have an accomplice?" Sam asked, hoping that hitch in his voice hadn't betrayed him.

"We’ve found other prints on this scene but they can't be identified and he insists that he doesn’t work with anyone. Used to run with his sick fuck father though, the guy carted him around the country doing the same thing, raised his kids in that kind of hell, dropped dead a few years ago," Sam's heart clenched then, a hollow pit in his stomach making him feel sick.

"You said kids," he said slowly, hoping to hell they didn't know,

"Younger son dropped off the radar when he was 17, we've tried locating him but we're not hopeful, if we're lucky he's dead and not carrying on without his family." Sam's hands were balled into fists under the desk, this was too much,

"Can I talk to him?" he asked, the FBI agent looked confused, regarding him slowly before nodding,

"Don't see why not, the guy's got the charm of a brick," he noted, "cocky little creep, can't see him swaying your opinion of him," they arranged a meeting at the penitentiary the suspect was being held in before the DA and FBI agent left him be, sat looking over the file he'd been given, recanting all the cases that had been linked to this man through previously unknown fingerprints.

"Dean..." he sighed, running his fingers over the photo of his older brother, regretting leaving for the first time in ten years, his dad was dead and his brother was about to go to jail for _life_ , it was too much, he broke down.

He buried his face in his hands and let out a noise of frustration, a pitiful sound that wavered into a sob, eyes stinging with tears he needed to shed, suddenly thrown into mourning a man he hadn’t even known was dead, who had been dead for _years_. He felt beyond sick, trembling violently as he tried to get a grip of himself, to hold it in, he couldn’t break down here, he had to go over Dean’s file, had to find a way to get him out of this, get a level head and save his brother’s life.

He managed to push his feelings aside, wiping his face miserably and standing up, he headed to the bathroom to wash his face, rid himself of as much evidence of crying as possible, he couldn’t have people see him like this, he had a reputation to uphold. He returned then to his office, mulling over Dean’s file, thick as it was with breaking and entering, theft, desecration of grave sites, and the two murders Dean had been accused of.

Mentally he chalked up most of it as hunts, could even tell what kinds of hunts they were as he sifted through the papers, but the murders bugged him, the reports were thick with information and each ended the same way, Dean Winchester was found dead in a girl’s apartment, shot three times in the chest. He had been reading those reports for hours when his secretary knocked on the door, he looked up, beckoning her inside and watching her warily,

“Mr Moore, it’s getting late, do you want me to call Mrs Moore to tell you you’re working late?”

“Hm? No, I’m done now,” he sighed, closing the file and locking it in his desk, he didn’t want to take this home, not where his wife could find it, knowing she’d put the pieces together a lot quicker than anyone else could. With that, he put other smaller cases in his briefcase before clicking it closed and standing up, grabbing his overcoat and heading from the office, “Good night Amelia,” he bid as he passed her, leaving her to lock up the office as she always did.

He was uneasy on the drive home, wringing his hands on the wheel whenever he stopped, fretting about the visit on Friday, beyond worried about seeing his brother for the first time in years, seeing how Dean would react to him and his life. What was worse was he wasn’t sure there was any wiggle room for Dean here, if Dean had killed those people and been killed himself, how had he come back? Had their dad done a deal with a demon? His life for Dean’s? He just didn’t know, and why would Dean have killed those people in the first place? Murder just wasn’t Dean’s thing, not unless he had escalated from hunting, maybe cracked under the pressure of saving everyone, God only knew Dean was a martyr when it came to the reasons people died.

He pulled into the drive before his home, it wasn’t too big, cosy and made for a family, complete with the doghouse in the front yard, an excitable old golden retriever wiggling out of the doghouse and loping over to him,

“Hey Bones…” he greeted but his heart wasn’t in it, torn between worry for his brother and worry for a rejection from him, Dean didn’t approve of him leaving, so what would he think when he knew Sam was _happy_ with his life?

The dog’s tail stopped wagging and he settled at Sam’s feet, looking up at him with imploring eyes, like the old dog wanted to hear what was bothering Sam, he smiled a little and ruffled the dog’s fur, beckoning him inside with him, shedding his coat and jacket, shoes on the rack and briefcase by the door.

“Jess? I’m home!” he called out softly, Bones waggling off to show him the way to his wife, finding her in the kitchen, a small child in her arms, “hey,” he greeted quietly, wrapping his arms around her and looking over her shoulder at the snoozing child, “how’s she been?” he asked,

“An angel, for once,” Jessica smiled, easing the soggy bib from the toddler’s mouth carefully, smiling when she stayed quiet and asleep, “Want to help me put her to bed?”

“I’ll sit this one out,” Sam sighed, Jessica turning to look at him,

“Is everything okay?” she asked, expression full of concern,

“Yeah fine,” he smiled, it wasn’t very convincing, but Jessica needed to put their daughter to bed, “Good night Mary,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the infant’s head before watching Jessica leave with her.

He set about making himself a light snack, stalling as he went to cut a sandwich in half, growing angry and upset at everything that had happened. How could Dean have been so _stupid_? How could their dad have just _died_ like that? Dean should have had a partner, hell he _seemed_ to have had one, so how had he been caught? How had he been marked by the FBI?

He had so many questions, was so angry and upset that he didn’t notice the bite of the blade into his palm, could barely see it through the tears he could no longer hold back, but Bones was whimpering and Jessica was trying to pry Sam’s hand loose, to make him release his grasp on the blade so she could help him.

“Sam what happened?” she asked softly, the knife in the sink and a clean cloth pressed to the deep cut in his palm,

“My brother…” he sighed,

“Your brother?” she frowned, “What about him? Have you seen him?” she asked, and Sam shook his head, wiping his eyes with his free hand and shaking his head again,

“The FBI came to me today,” he said, “with a case, a big one,” he mumbled, “it’s him… it’s Dean…” Jessica’s eyes widened and she stepped back,

“Oh Sam…” she let out,

“No, it wasn’t him, I don’t know how but… he wouldn’t just _kill_ someone Jess, he _wouldn’t_ do that,” he tried to defend his brother, realising that that was what he would have to do, he would have to defend Dean, or help him get out.

“Sam I’m sorry… if it’s a misunderstanding, you should try and prove it,” There was no way anyone would believe him if he said it was because Dean was hunting monsters, that was one of the reasons people thought Dean was crazy, an occultist, because he’d probably jokingly told them the truth only for it to be thrown back in his face.

“I don’t think I can…” he muttered, wanting to rub his face, bury it in his hands and let out a frustrated cry, but his hand was starting to ache as the cloth binding it turned reddish brown with blood. “I’ve looked through his file but I don’t think I can prove _anything_ ,” he sighed, turning and pressing the small of his back against the counter, he couldn’t deal with this today; he didn’t know what to feel first, his fear for his brother, or his mourning for his father.

His brother seemed to win out, worry keeping him awake throughout the night and restless over the next few days, trying to work out a way to get Dean out of this mess; one thing he did realise, though, was he was being followed. He didn’t know who by until he arrived at the penitentiary on Friday, glancing across the street to see a man stood watching him, eyes bluer than blue as he scrutinised Sam, but made no move to approach or walk away, just staring.

He was tempted to head over, to confront the man for watching him and following him, but Henriksen arrived, distracting him for long enough that the man in the dirty trench coat had vanished when he looked back, making him question whether he had seen a human or something else.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” Henriksen sighed, gesturing for Sam to follow him into the building,

“Don’t you have enough evidence to put him away without trial?” Sam asked,

“There’s been an issue with corroboration,” Henriksen muttered,

“The videos? From what I gather the CCTV picked up the guy you’d arrested originally at the scene of one of the murders,” Sam pointed out, a light bulb flicking on when he realised, _shapeshifter_. Dean had been hunting a shapeshifter, _that_ was the murderer, _not Dean_. But that left another question, how had their dad died?

“Yeah… You want me in there with you?” he asked, they were outside the interview room now, Sam could see Dean through the small glass window, sat at the table looking kind of tired and downtrodden.

“No thanks, I want some privacy, he might open up,” Sam explained, half relying on the cop personas he and his brother had practiced in the past, Henriksen seemed to accept this, opting to head for a coffee whilst Sam talked to the suspect. He opened the door and stepped in, but Dean didn’t look up, keeping his gaze downturned on his hands, waiting for Sam to round the table and take a seat before he looked up.

“Sammy,” he greeted, smiling slightly, stopping when he looked at Sam’s bandaged hand,

“Bet you weren’t expecting me here,” Sam smiled back, a sad expression really,

“Actually I did, wouldn’t have stopped as long if I didn’t hear Sam _Moore_ was gonna be my prosecutor,” he smirked, shocking Sam, Dean had a way out?

“You can get out?” Sam asked,

“Yeah, got a friend waiting to pull me out, I said I wanted to see my dork brother before I hit the road again,” he chuckled, “Figure I should bury myself again though,” he grumbled, looking to Sam and growing alarmed. Sam was sniffling and wiping at his face, relief coming off of him in waves,

“Thank God,” he smiled wetly, Dean scoffing slightly, “Man that’s a relief,” he laughed, sobering up as he remembered something, “I heard Dad was dead,” he frowned, Dean looking sheepish,

“Yeah… he uh… it was pretty sudden… car accident…” Henriksen had said John Winchester had just dropped dead, no mention of a crash. “I’m sorry you heard like this Sam… I was gonna tell you…” he mumbled, fidgeting with his cuffs, Sam had a million and one questions but he didn’t know where to start, “You’ve missed a wild ride Sammy,” Dean laughed softly, looking down at his hands, almost fondly,

“You have too Dean,” Sam said, wanting to continue and talk about Jessica and Mary and _his life_ , but Dean was looking at him now, a smile on his face as he shook his head, he had a look in his eyes that told Sam he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Wish I could tell you about it,” Dean mumbled,

“Yeah… how are you getting out?” Dean grinned at him then, happy Sam brought that up,

“I’ve got a plan, I need your help,” Sam groaned at that, watching Dean lean forwards eagerly,

“Dean I don’t think—“ he began, Dean interrupting him,

“All I need is a paperclip,” Dean said quickly, “just leave it on the desk and go, that’s all I need you for,”

“You’re _breaking out_ , Dean the FBI are here and the place is crawling with cops and guards,” Sam sighed, Dean was never going to get out like that,

“Dude I only need to get out of this room, I gotta find something then vanish, nobody will even know I was here,” he shrugged,

“Dean… you were arrested, _everyone_ knows you’re here,” Sam stated, not optimistic about Dean’s plan, but he pulled a small notebook from his pocket and removed the paperclip holding a small slip of paper in, holding the clip out to his brother,

“Yeah well, I’ve not been on the news, so they won’t,” Dean smirked, accepting the paperclip and hiding it in his hands, “I’ll catch you later Sammy,”

“Good luck Dean,” Sam bid, standing and leaving the room.

He didn’t think Dean would get out but there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he told Henricksen he was done and would get back to him on Monday, hopefully by then Dean would be long gone. He was leaving the building when someone rammed into him, knocking him so hard with their shoulder that he staggered back, “Hey! Watch it asshole!” he balked, turning to see who had knocked him, confused as hell when he realised he was alone on the path leading from the penitentiary, there was nobody there who could have knocked into him. He didn’t know what to think about that, choosing to ignore it and head home, concerned enough to check the devil’s trap he’d painted on the underside of the carpet by the front door, it was intact and fine, thank God.

Sam distracted himself playing with Mary all afternoon, the three year old curling up on the couch to have a nap before dinner, Sam sat running his fingers through her hair, dark like his but a little curly. He smiled down at her, watching her fondly, Dean’s incarceration hit home, made him grateful for everything he had; Bones was on the floor at his feet, but the dog’s head lifted and he grew alert, Sam looking concerned, following the dog’s gaze and hearing a soft knock on the door. Bones was up like a shot, the old animal a master at acting like he wasn’t almost twelve, but he wasn’t barking or growling, if anything he seemed _excited_ that someone was at the door, not like him at all.

Sam got up slowly, checking Mary before heading to the door, watching the way Bones was so excited his wagging tail was actually making his back legs skitter slightly, “C’mon boy, get back,” he urged, unlocking the door and easing it open, frown turning to shock when he saw two men on his doorstep.

“Heya Sammy, can we come in?” it was Dean, he was wearing a hoodie and jeans, grinning up at Sam, the man with him wasn’t quite so chipper looking, serious and frowning at Sam, blue eyes boring into him.

“Uh… yeah…” he stepped aside, Dean greeting the dog and urging it further into the house, crouching to greet him properly whilst his friend stepped inside the house, looking down at the carpet as he stepped over it. “Wait a second,” Sam balked, “you’ve been following me!” he accused, the man just stared at him, not even blinking before he spoke,

“Yes,” he said, looking to the shoe rack and slipping his smart looking dress shoes off, tucking them beneath it.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?” Sam asked, the man staring at him again, god that was creepy, Dean stood from fussing the dog and kicked his boots off,

“Why would I deny it? I have been following you…”

“At my request,” Dean interrupted, “Speaking of, how’s your hand Sammy?” Dean asked, Sam looking down at his bandaged hand, he’d forgotten it was bandaged, couldn’t even feel the pain,

“Okay I guess… but why has he been following me… no… who _is_ he?” Sam asked, closing the door and looking to the lounge, Bones had loped off again, presumably to keep an eye on his daughter as was his wont.

“Sam, this is Castiel,” Dean introduced,

“Your partner?” Sam asked, offering his hand to Castiel, the man accepted it briefly and shook it before his hands retreated to his pockets,

“We are not wed,” Castiel stated, Dean laughing softly,

“Ain’t that the truth, now where’s my sister-in-law hiding?” Dean asked, wandering through the house. Sam followed quickly, wanting to tell Dean it had been a long time since they’d met and Jessica barely knew anything _about_ him, but he’d found her already and they were hugging when he walked into the kitchen.

“Dean! It’s so nice to see you again,” she smiled up at him,

“It’s been a long time Jess, gorgeous as ever I see,” Dean winked, Sam sighing wearily, it was already happening again, “This is Cas, the other half,” Dean joked, earning a frown from Castiel, who Jessica moved on to greet but stopped.

“Wait… I know you…” she said, and Castiel started staring at her, looking apprehensive, “you… you were…” she trailed off, looking confused, glancing to the couch where her daughter lay, “you were there… you both were…”

“Dean?” Sam asked, Dean shrugged slightly,

“May have stopped in to visit my new-born niece, so sue me,” he huffed, “we can’t stop long, just wanted to make sure it’d worked before we head out again,”

“What had worked?” Sam asked,

“Two things,” Dean smiled, stepping forwards and beginning to peel the bandage off of Sam’s hand, revealing a fully healed palm, Sam didn't know how to react to that, “Firstly this, secondly,” he drew Sam close then, “don’t mention me being arrested… she doesn’t know, nobody does…” he whispered, smiling awkwardly when he stepped back, “Oh uh… before I forget… it’s a bit late I know, but here,” he rifled in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a wrapped box and an envelope, he held the envelope out to Sam, “Just a few things so you can get in touch again, oh, and a card,” he shrugged, Sam opening the envelope to find a notebook, coded with the typical Winchester symbols and words, a book of numbers to call, and a congratulatory card on his wedding. “The gift isn’t much of a wedding present, but I figured it was sentimental enough,”

“I’m sorry you missed it,” Sam sighed, accepting the box next and unwrapping it,

“I didn’t miss it,” Dean smirked, watching as Sam opened a jewellery case and pulled out the horned amulet Dean always used to wear, “I just didn’t stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dean calling Cas the "other half" can be taken as a joke or a ship, doesn't matter.


End file.
